Doppelganger
by Fledgling
Summary: [Oneshot, snapshottype fic. For cookienook challenge 10.] But Draco can't see himself yet.


Word count: 876  
--

_Doppelganger_

Three pairs of footsteps clacked merrily along the Hogwarts floor, accompanied by boys' voices.

"Draco."

One set of footsteps faltered, then tumbled to a stop, causing the remaining four feet to pause in imitation.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I would like to see you in my office."

"Professor?"

A confused spasm crossed his face for a split second. But Professor Snape didn't see, having already swivelled round, an indirect command compelling Draco to follow. Crabbe and Goyle started forward but unconsciously lagged until they found themselves nearly motionless; so they froze, and watched pale Malfoy accelerate with the professor before turning away.

The boy followed his Potions master down the hallway, on path to the dungeons. The rate of temperature decrease was equivalent to the speed with which one clattered down the stone steps; Malfoy, who was practically running to keep up, felt draughts of ice tackle his bare face and neck. He had hardly a moment to ponder whether or not he was going to be punished when the Potions master turned a corner and disappeared, leaving a breeze in his wake.

When Draco entered the Potions master's room, Professor Snape was already seated behind his desk, utterly still despite the vigour he walked with mere moments ago.

It certainly did not look like he'd only been sitting for half a second. He looked like he'd been waiting, softly and coldly impatient, for a tardy student. Draco sat down, chest heaving, and immediately saw the Potions master's dark eyes fixate upon his. His first instinct was to smirk (even when he was being reprimanded, Professor Snape's punishments were weak, lenient, hardly punishments at all), but what came out on Draco Malfoy's face was a bit of a sneer.

Professor Snape said nothing for a long while. It was a few seconds too long to be comfortable, and a few seconds too short for Draco to expect that it would remain silent forever. When the Professor finally spoke, it was with a dispassionate, but ambiguously apologetic voice.

"How is your mother?" Professor Snape asked. "I hope she is not having a difficult time, with Lucius temporarily... detained."

"Not really." Draco answered quickly. He'd flushed as soon as Professor Snape asked the question. The pink tinge spread from outwards from his cheekbones and up to his temples. He looked uncomfortable, even childishly ashamed, but also indignant, an atypical rage rushing up to bubble behind his eyes. "She's fine. She worries about Father of course, but I told her not to."

He looked right at Professor Snape as he spoke, the voice steady, but the words quick, proud, impudent, tumbling a little at the end of the vowels. "It's all because of that _Harry Potter!_" he spat, flush rising splotchily to his forehead. "He--"

"Yes," Snape interrupted. "I understand your sentiments completely; in fact, I rather _agree_ with them," he drawled. But be careful what you say within Hogwarts' walls; _yes_, even in thisoffice!" he added, when Draco bristled.

Draco shut his mouth, but the quick breathing and the cherry pink of his lips and cheeks did not subside. He opened his mouth several times, but closed it reluctantly each time.

"And what of you, Draco?" Snape asked. "I imagine with your father gone--"

"I'm fine, of course," Draco said a little too loudly. "I know Father's going to get out soon enough, and Mother knows too. I don't see why we should worry about him."

He suddenly appeared very fierce. It was unusual for Draco to seem anything but self-satisfied and smug. After his outburst, the boy looked to his right, scowling. The Potions master suddenly hallucinated a ghost of the boy currently across from him; the ghost-figure pasted itself cleanly over the form of the real-time Draco Malfoy, and the Professor saw a brighter face, a curve of innocence in the lips; this boy was also crueller, and looked better fed.

Draco Malfoy lifted a hand to tug at his collar. The illusion broke, leaving Professor Snape observing a boy whose composure was quickly deteriorating. Yes, Lucius Malfoy's son was still haughty and childish and icy, but a poison beneath the surface had begun to eat away at the sneers, the smirks, the scowls. Desperation. Snape wet his lips. He knew it well. Desperation, perhaps even panic, was starting to undermine him. It made the boy clumsy with emotion, but he didn't know it yet.

Of course, there were many things that young Draco did not know, too many to count!

Abruptly, an interruption.

"Was that all, Professor?"

So haughty! Snape wondered, for a moment, how Draco kept it all together. Then he remembered that Draco did not fully understand.

It was already showing. The old Draco was now like oil on water; unsteady. Snape was certain Draco could feel it himself. Snape became aware that Draco was watching him expectantly, and finally, he met the boy's gaze and smiled.

"Yes, Draco; that is all."

They stood, the younger mirroring the older. The shadows fell ominously, and looking down, Draco noticed they looked like two black-robed figures surfacing out of the floor itself.

"Come along, Draco. You must not be late for class."

The two exited. And the shadows slid away, eventually vaporising into darkness.


End file.
